


The Breaking Point

by Cruisinwritealong



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drarry, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Overthinking, Pining, angsty Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruisinwritealong/pseuds/Cruisinwritealong
Summary: Don't ruin this! Don't hurt your friend. Can't lose Draco.“Potter.”Draco.“Potter look at me.”





	The Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy. Happy Reading <3

The Great Hall was loud and chaotic, teaming with color and movement and life. It seemed like every being at Hogwarts was eating at the same time. The candles over head bobbed and the banners danced to the cacophony of noises made by the clinking of utensils on plates, the thudding of cups on table tops, hundreds of shoes pounding the floor, and the white-noise thrumming of so many voices joking, laughing, talking. So much talking.

Even now, well into their 8th year, the energy in the Hall was thick with the adrenaline of a fresh start. A sense of victorious alleviation hung in the air so dense in was all but tangible.

They were alive. They were alive and free and the relief of it all continued to sink in more every day, like someone slowly loosening a knot from around their insides allowing for a deeper breath each new and bright morning.

Harry sat quietly neutral to all the noise and movement around him. Of course he was glad for the jovial, energetic sounds, grateful even. Yet lately he found himself unable to engage with it all, unable to revel in the victory the way his friends did. More and more he felt at odds, strangely detached from his surroundings. Nothing wrong, yet still not quite “right.” Restless legs with nowhere he had be. Restless mind with nothing he had to do. No one making demands of him... a striking, disorienting change.

It was a cruel sort of irony too. He was the one who ended the war after all, but the victory celebration seemed to allude  him. He could not shake the incompleteness he felt growing within. There was some unfinished battle he felt looming, and to his great frustration, he could not seem to work out what exactly it was he was even fighting. Who wins, who loses, when you’re only wrestling with yourself?

He found out his enemy's name before he knew he was even in a war last time. The battle lines were drawn for him. Now he only felt the conflict growing inside himself. No clear enemy, no right side or wrong side, just unfinished, unsettled tangles snagging and pulling at his mind and heart. An internal tug of war - something fighting him to be released, set free and something urging him to maintain the status quo, stay in control. 

He could hear his mind-healer, “Stay present Harry. Don’t relive the past. Don’t forecast the future. Be present in the moment you have in front of you. Sit with unknown, its is not your enemy anymore.”

He took a deep breath, trying to relax his insides, looking for something to ground him. He casually crossed his arms in front of himself and leaned forward onto the table. His eyes took in the whole scene, trying and failing, not to look over to the silver and green table...again. He could not seem to settle anywhere else these days. He knew very well where they always wanted to go. He fought himself for a minute before giving in.

And Harry appeared the picture of calm, relaxing with his friends after a good meal. It was only his stillness that gave him away. That, and the fact that he had not stopped starring across the Hall for several minutes now. Hell, he'd hardly even blinked.

His eyes were narrowed and his brows furrowed in deep concentration as if there was a puzzle to work out on the Slytherin table. He felt his magic prickle, as if it were alerting him to something, drawing him across the room. He frowned in confusion.

Of course it was Hermione that noticed. She always noticed.

"Harry? ... Harry!"

Harry jumped. "Yeah? Yeah. I'm listening."

Ron scoffed at this, "Mate. Juuust go talk to him already!" He grumbled, stuffed another roll into his mouth, and then he turned to Hermione, "You know, I honestly thought the obsessing was over for a while there."

"Ron hush," she quickly waved off the other boy before softening her tone, "Harry...you can't take your eyes off him."

"What?!" Harry sat straight up quickly, mind scrambling. "No that's not true! I'm - I'm just thinking.. about...quidditch."

His finish to that statement was weak and he knew it.

"You're a shit liar mate. And you're a prat for lying in the first place. And a git for just sitting here." Ron stared Harry down, challenging him to respond. "You deserve to finally be happy, Harry. Go make it happen!"

"Harry, its just... we care about you, and well, we know you have, you know... feelings. For him."

Where Ron was all confrontation and push, Hermione was a gentle hand, urging but supportive. Harry wanted nothing to do with either.

He felt both sides of his civil war rise up in his head. These moments of conflict were happening with increasing frequency. He had yet to find a way to get control over his wandering thoughts and it showed. His denial and panic made him increasingly edgy and defensive. It spiraled more and more every time he was confronted. 

"Stop ok! Guys just, just stop. There are no "feelings" alright?? He's just - look I don't know ok? I don't know. We're friends. Friends. ...and its fine. I'm Fine."

As soon as he heard his harsh tone he backed down, instantly apologetic. He knew he was lashing out and mentally kicked himself for pushing away the safest people in his life. But they kept bringing this up. Kept pushing him. Kept "helping."

"Then,” Hermione pressed, “why do you know exactly who we're talking about?"

Hermione's question hung in the air. The silence was loud and Harry had no response. He chose instead to lay his head down on his crossed forearms with a disgruntled, exasperated noise. Ron and Hermione knew their friend so well, his non-verbal cue to end the conversation was registered loud and clear.

They moved on to talk quietly between themselves, and Harry's eyes drifted across the room to find their target again, as if discontent to rest anywhere else but on that face. He released a subconscious sigh.

Professor McGonagall stood then, cleared her throat, and quieted the room. Harry didn't even register her words. He simply watched the other boy watch her. He couldn't bring himself to care about the instructions which he knew Hermione would inevitably repeat to him on their way back to the common room. His gaze stayed, fixated on the "just friend" friend across the room. His thoughts swirled in his head.

_He’s a friend. Just a friend. Why am I thinking about him all the bloody time now?_

_And why does his hair have to just fall like that across his stupid forehead? If I could just brush my fingers threw it, then I could really see his eyes. His eyes..._

_Shit._

He blinked rapidly a few times, then shook his head quickly back and forth as if he could shake the attraction out from his ears.

_He just licked his lips. His fucking lips. I just want to... dammit._

_How would they feel ...just stretched around my ...and sucking and -_

_Fucking hell._ He shifted restlessly in his chair.

_And his long fingers, his arms look so toned now._

_Oh Merlin I could so easily pin those poshy slim wrists above his head, and god those broad shoulders..._

_I am so fucked. I so want to-._

_Fuuuck!_

_No. No I do not want Malfoy. I do not. I do not want to...see more of that collar bone that’s just poking out of his shirt there._

_I like when he wears that blue shirt._

_Oh, I could trail my tongue along his neck there and..._

_Oh bloody hell._

He all but groaned out loud.

And then like magic, it was as if the entire room froze and the edges blurred away. The noises dimmed down to silence, the movements all stopped. It was just him and the other boy.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He stared, transfixed, as Malfoy, almost in slow motion, turned intentionally away from the front of room and locked eyes with him. He unconsciously picked his head up a bit, too captivated by the moment to be ashamed of being caught gawking.

Malfoy did not blink or shift. He simply zeroed in on Harry and returned Harry's stare in kind, letting Harry know that he had definitely felt the intense, lustful gaze. And Harry had never seen him look back at him like _that_ before.

_Holy Shit._

There was a yank in Harry's gut then, an invisible, magnetic, visceral draw all but physically pulling him towards Malfoy. It stole his breath.

He had come to terms with his crush. He knew he thought Malfoy was attractive, but this?  _This?_ This was different.

This was burning and undeniable. This he felt in his core. This stopped him in his tracks. This was more than acknowledging his friend was good-looking. This was full on desire. Full on want.

_I want him._

_Oh. ...oh gods._

And Harry had no idea how to process this spiral of information.

He had felt attraction before, he was sure of it. But he was also sure that no one had ever captivated him like this. No one had effected him in his bones like this. Not even close.

Dessert appeared in front of them breaking the spell before Harry had a chance to unravel the tangle of thoughts. It felt as if he was waking up from the fog of a too-long sleep. He was slightly dazed and more than slightly confused. All he knew in that moment was that he had to _go_. He had to think. To breathe. And he couldn't do that here. He couldn’t be in the same room, even this grand of a room, or any where near Draco Malfoy for a moment longer. Not until he figured this all out. Not until he got a fucking grip. 

They're friendship was fragile and newly formed, but he treasured it. It was a type of victory that he actually could feel. He couldn't bare the idea of losing it, losing Draco.

Draco who surprised him over and over again.

Draco who listened, really listened, and responded to him with an empathetic understanding.

Draco who made him laugh til tears with his dry wit and sarcastic commentary.

Draco who helped him study and focus and actually find enjoyment in learning new magical theory again.

Draco who pushed him to be a better version of himself, even if he was a prat about it most of the time.

Draco who helped him enjoy himself, grounding him to the moment.

Draco, Draco, Draco.

Turns out, when Draco isn't being abused by a racist parent or blackmailed into a corner by a murderous lunatic, he’s a really good person.

And anyone who could stare their offenses in the face the way he did, own them, apologize for them, well, Harry knew that took a hell of a lot of courage and strength. It did not take long for Harry to realize that Draco had his respect. Draco had his attention.

Draco had _him_.

Harry stood quickly, startling Ron and Hermione.

"Mate? Where-"

"I need some air. I'm fine, um, I'll just meet you upstairs in a while, yeah?"

"You sure? We could come with you?"

"No. No I'm fine, really. I just need to go, um. Now."

Harry turned and walked quickly out of the hall leaving his confused friends behind and feeling a specific pair of eyes watching his back as he walked all the way out.

The next few days Harry found himself in a vicious cycle. He didn’t want to damage his friendship with Draco so he couldn't ignore him, but every time he found himself anywhere near the other boy, the flood of feelings, the pull, the longing would overwhelm him and he would have to get away before he did something idiotic.

Harry found it best to not even look in Draco’s direction, force his mind to focused anywhere else. He played quidditch with Katie Bell and chess with Ron. He helped Neville with the plants in the newly built greenhouses and built fires around the lake with Dean and Seamus. He even studied with Hermione and one afternoon, counted the stones in the wall of his room. Anything to keep from acknowledging that he was missing Draco so badly it physically hurt.

He was overwhelmed at the sight of the other boy, and very angry that these feelings had stolen the comfort of his friend.

When Draco would come into a room, he would find a reason to leave. He made lame excuses one after another. He took different hallways and short cuts. He skipped meals and snuck snacks from the kitchens. He tracked Malfoy on the map even more obsessively than sixth year, only this time to avoid rather than to stalk. Reverse stalking? Harry wondered if there was such a thing.

_Where is he? Come on... bloody map is too big._

_I managed to hide from Voldemort for a whole damn year. Why can't I hide from one blonde git for a few bloody days?!_

_Cause you don’t actually want to._

_Cause all you can think_ _about_ _is being very, very near him._

_Cause you’re not hiding, you’re running_

_Dammit! That was close!_

Harry hid in an alcove as Draco and Pansy walked by. Pansy was rambling on about something, but Draco was obviously ignoring her completely. He looked lost in his own thoughts, and Harry wondered what was on his mind. He wondered if it was him. He let his head fall back into the wall with a silent groan and turned reluctantly in the other direction.

His plan was, well not "working" per se, and it was admittedly not a great plan, but he was at least buying some time to sort himself out. And he was making some progress, he supposed. That is, until the weekend came and then all of his friends wanted his attention. Including his “just friend” friend. And, great. He had to pass through them all to get to his refuge up the stairs.

“Oi Harry good, you're finally here. Come on Mate! Seamus snuck in some fire whiskey!” 

“Yes Potter, do relax. No heros needed for today and all that.” Draco waved a dismissive hand towards the open side of the sofa he and Pansy sat on, but Harry caught the unspoken question, the insecurity in his voice.

Harry mumbled something about a headache to no one in particular and ignore their protests and questions. He made a hasty exit from the group lounging all around the Eighth Year’s common room, but not before catching a brief glimpse of Draco’s face as he looked off into the fire. He just couldn’t help himself. But Harry saw confusion there and frustration and hurt.

He was driving everyone, including himself, mental with his erratic behavior. He just couldn’t figure out the right thing to do.

He slammed his door closed, flung himself down face first across his bed, and forced himself to just be still and breath.

He was alone in the quiet for a few long minutes until three curt knocks shattered the silence. He was expecting them to check on him, but it still made him slightly jump.

"Hermione, I'm fine! Thank you but I don't need any potions," he yelled to his closed door. He was so bloody tired of running and hiding, so done convincing everyone he was fine. 

_I am fine goddammit._

and then, “Potter. I’m coming in.”

_No. Shit. I’m not ready. I'm so not fine. So not fine!_

Harry stayed still, frozen across his bed with his head turned towards the wall. He didn't move, didn't speak. He felt Draco enter the room.

“Potter, honestly, what the hell happened in here? Did you lose a fight with a troll? I can’t even see the floor.”

“I’ve never lost a fight with a troll,” Harry mumbled into his blankets.

“What? Potter really. This is beyond ridiculous. Will you just sit up already?”

Harry huffed and forced himself to turn his face out of the covers just enough to speak clearly and without turning towards Draco. “Malfoy just... just go ok? I just need to be alone.”

“Oh you don’t need shit. You need to get your head out of your ass.”

“What the hell Malfoy! It’s my room!”

“Yes and your pity party apparently.”

“Just go already.” He had meant it to come out with force, meant it to be commanding. Instead his voice was pleading, almost whiny. He wanted to fall through his bed, through the floor.

“Fine Potter. I’ll go. I’ll go just as soon as you tell me what in Merlin’s name I did to piss you off so much.”

_What the hell?_

“What? What are you on about? I’m not pissed at you.”

“Oh really. Really? You haven’t stood in same room with me voluntarily, in over a week. You can’t even look me in the eye! I know we’re new to this whole friendship thing, but I thought we were at least passed this level of tripe.” Malfoy sounded tired. He sounded hurt.

“Malfoy, I’m not mad. I swear. I’m...I’m just, I don’t know. I’m thinking.”

“Thinking. Thinking about what, dare I ask? Thinking how to tell me to fuck off? Well don’t worry, Potter. Consider your owl received.”

“Malfoy no. No. This isn’t even about you, you prat! ...Well... it is...but it’s not like that, alight!”

“Oh Alright. Sure. Then what _is_ it like? If it is about me then explain it to me. Don’t tell me that Gryffindor courage has finally run out.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t provoke me, Malfoy. You know I hate all that stereotypical bullshit.”

“Fine then, Potter. Stop running the fuck away from me and talk to me! And you could at least stand and attempt to have a proper conversation! You can't even turn your stupid head? Or you won’t? What is the bloody problem!?”

Harry slapped his hands on his bed and forced himself to rise to his feet. He did not give in and look at Malfoy though. Instead he whirled around to look out his window and folded his arms to keep himself together.

They were silent for several tense moments.

“Potter," Draco's voice was all of a sudden soft and almost vulnerable. It threw Harry off balance. "I know you’ve been avoiding me. You never stay when we meet in the tower or the library or anywhere anymore. Merlin, you don't even come to meals in the Hall. You won't relax with your friends if I'm there. You won’t even look at me." Draco sounded small and wounded by the end. And it made Harry ache inside.

"What did I do?”

“Nothing. Nothing ok? You just...are you. And I can’t, I mean I... god dammit. I don’t want to ruin our friendship ok!? We just found this and ...it’ll just ruin everything.”

“What will? I don’t understand.”

“Ugh!! Me, ok? _This_. This feeling I have and this thing in me that won’t go away." Harry clawed at his chest like he could scrape it all out. "I just need some time to-to figure it out. So I don’t ...hurt you.”

“Potter, what thing? What feeling?”

Harry didn’t reply. He just dropped his arms, his whole body assuming the posture of someone who is completely out of fight.

“Feelings? Potter you... are you saying you have feelings... for me?”

Harry stood breathing hard, infuriated with himself. Everything in him was screaming at the same time. Turn. Don't turn. Tell him everything. Set it all free. Protect the friendship. Deny. Tell him nothing. It all felt like a disaster. 

“Merlin. Yes! Yes ok! Well done Potter. Spoiled something again! ...Don’t worry, I understand if its too uncomfortable—“

“Potter, look at me.”

...

“Look. At. Me.”

...

“God dammit Potter LOOK-“

“I CAN’T ALRIGHT!”

Harry panted, desperate to get a hold of this, a hold of himself. He took a deep, slow breath. And then another.

His mind jumped to the last conversation he had with his mind-healer. Her words tumbled back to him like he was inside a pensive memory.

_"Sounds to me like you've been told who you are for most of your life, would you agree Harry?"_

_He simple nodded, trying to process this new filter to his past._

_"Well, those voices are gone, aren't they? Its all yours now Harry. Only you get to decide what labels sticks. Only you get to decide who you are, what's right for you. It really is_ your _life - only yours. So... who are you, Harry? You've told me about so many people who care about you unconditionally - Ron, Hermione, ...Draco. I'm sure they want you to be "just Harry" as you like to say. I'm sure they will help you find your way, if you let them. I suppose the question is, do you have the courage for one more journey? Do you have the courage to break free one more time?"_

He had not run out of courage yet, thank you very much.

_Ron, Hermione, ...Draco._

Somewhere deep inside him a dam broke, and it all came tumbling out.

“When I look at you... If I look at you... I’ll see your eyes, and if I see your eyes, I won’t be able to look away. And then ...then I’ll see your lips, and if I see your lips Draco, I _am_ going to kiss you. And...and if I start kissing you...," he huffed a sarcastic laugh, "I am not going to stop kissing you. So no. No, I can’t look at you right now, alright?”

Harry felt a warm hand grasp his wrist and pull him around. He screwed his eyes shut and kept his head down.

_Don't ruin this! Don't hurt your friend. Can't lose Draco._

“Potter.”

_Draco._

“Potter look at me.”

...

“Please?”

_Fuck._

Harry slowly cracked his eyes open. He saw the tops of Draco’s stupid polished dress shoes. He trailed up his long, tailored grey pants. Past his shiny belt buckle, up his white buttons to his perfectly starched collar. He swallowed hard as he stared at Draco’s long elegant neck, but stopped there.

Harry’s eyes jumped up and out to Draco’s ear and then higher to his soft, silky blonde hair, higher still. He was looking up and over Draco, cheating.

"Come on Potter."

“Draco,” he whispered to the ceiling, “are you sure?”

“Harry James Potter, please...  _look at_ _me_.”

Harry nearly melted through the floor.

He closed his eyes again. He took as deep a breath as he could manage with his heart trying to beat out through his chest. And he did it. He looked straight into Draco’s eyes, his big beautiful swirling silvery blue, stunning eyes. 

Draco met his gaze with a soft intensity and shy smile. Harry couldn’t move. He was lost in the molten whirlpool depths of Draco.

“Hello Harry,” Draco whispered breathlessly.

And then it was Draco’s hands that shot to Harry’s face, and he closed the small space in between them.

The kissing was all the contradictions Harry knew and loved about Draco. It was soft and firm. It was sweet but insistent. It was bold and unsure. It was fast and slow. It was too much and not ever enough. It was oxygen and he couldn’t breathe. It was so very Draco.

Their lips parted and their heads tilted. Their tongues tangled and rolled and slid and pressed, and as the kisses grew deeper and arms grasped tighter, Harry's world stopped turning for moment...

_oooh gods_

...and then started spinning in a whole new direction.

His magic began to vibrate within him. He felt emboldened, freed, flooded with a new sense of self and a tsunami of desire. And suddenly he was pushing Draco back, causing him to stumble a bit until his back hit the wall. Harry’s hands mapped Draco’s body and he kissed him in a frenzy. Draco broke the kiss.

“Harry. Harry. Wait. Slow *kiss* slow down.”

They panted and stared at each other.

“Sorry. Sorry. But I did warn you, and you just- it feels so-“

”Yeah. Yeah I know.”

A small smile broke out on Draco’s face. Harry’s smile followed. And then they were laughing together, giddy on relief and the wonder of possibilities.

“So Potter,” Draco sniffed and squared his shoulders as only an impossibly poshy git could, “you fancy me, eh?”

“Oh shove off Malfoy.” Harry tried not to laugh. He failed. Malfoy smiled down at him in authentic happiness. It was blindingly beautiful and Harry could do nothing but kiss him again.

And again.

And again.

And - Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Harry, you alright mate? Sorry, s’just you know how Mione... can...be...?”

Harry jumped back from Draco as Ron entered the room, but their rumpled clothes, chaotic hair, and general disheveled appearances gave them away loud and clear.

“Oh bloody hell,” Ron chuckled with fond exasperation. He turned and walked away leaving the door open and calling down, “S’alright Mione! They’ve just finally sorted their stupid selves out!”

Harry laughed and felt a wave of affection for Ron Weasley wash over him.

“Have we then Potter? Sorted ourselves out?” They met eyes again.

“A bit yeah,” Harry chuckled, basking in the alleviation. “Probably have a bit of talking to do though.”

“Probably, yes. And I dare say we could do a fair amount of talking on say, a date to Hogsmeade? Tomorrow?”

“Y-yeah? I mean. Yes, brilliant. Yeah.”

“Eloquent as always, Chosen One."

"Such a Tosser." 

"And who knows Potter, I might even let you look at me some more.”

“Shut it Malfoy.” Harry grabbed the front of Draco’s shirt and playfully pushed him back into the wall. “You have to be careful tomorrow, you know, you might even enjoy yourself.”

“The horror of it all.”

The two boys stared at each other with silly wide grins stretching their faces, reveling in the enormity of this moment.

Harry gazed up into Draco’s brilliant, beautiful eyes, and Draco stared passionately right back.

“Harry Potter, stop looking at me like that or I will be forced to keep kissing you.”

”I’m not ever going to stop, Draco Malfoy. I’m never going to run from this again.”

Harry felt something profound settle deep within himself. He felt bold and brave. All the sides of himself finally singing in harmony. He felt found. 

The victory of the war was for them, for the good of all. This victory, this freedom to be his true authentic self, this was all for him. He was finally, completely free. And he'd be damned if he wasn't going to let himself enjoy it for a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very welcomed and appreciated!  
> Thank you for reading!


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